


i get off on you (and him)

by squadrickchestopher



Series: Filthy Porn Fridays [13]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Captain America Suit, Clint Barton as Captain America, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Fantasy, which is then immediately discussed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:02:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29093916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squadrickchestopher/pseuds/squadrickchestopher
Summary: unbeta'ed, mistakes are mineLoose fill for WHB B5, sugar daddy/baby AU. Written for CruciatusForeplay, who prompted most of this.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: Filthy Porn Fridays [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860367
Comments: 11
Kudos: 86
Collections: Clintucky Fried Bunnies, Winterhawk Bingo Round Two





	i get off on you (and him)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CruciatusForeplay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CruciatusForeplay/gifts).



> unbeta'ed, mistakes are mine
> 
> Loose fill for WHB B5, sugar daddy/baby AU. Written for CruciatusForeplay, who prompted most of this.

“Holy shit,” is the first thing Bucky says when Clint gets home. “I mean— _holy shit._ ”

Clint grins as he kicks the door closed. “You like this, huh?”

“I—” Bucky sets his laptop on the coffee table—no point in trying to do schoolwork _now_ —and vaults over the couch, moving to stand in front of Clint. “Are you kidding me? Do you have any idea how good you look in this?”

“I do,” Clint says, leaning the shield against the back of the couch. “I tried to convince Steve to let me keep it, but I think it’s technically government property or something.”

“You should,” Bucky says immediately, and steps back a little, trying to take it all in. He knew—he fucking _knew_ —that Clint would look like a walking wet dream in the Captain America uniform, but he had no idea it would be this incredible. Steve looks damn good in it too, but there’s just something about the way it clings to Clint’s arms, highlighting every line of muscle. Bucky can imagine him pulling back on a bow, or throwing the shield around, and it is _doing_ things to him. “Please keep it. I’ll write a letter to Congress or something. Anything.”

Clint laughs. “I’m sure that’ll go well. _Dear Congress, my boyfriend looks really good in the Captain America suit, can he please keep it for our kinky sex life?_ ”

Bucky shrugs, even as he blushes a little. “I mean—”

“It’s okay,” Clint says, pushing the cowl off his head. “I like how much you like it. You think I wore this home for fun?” He smirks a little. ”Well—I mean, I kinda did. If you look at it that way.”

Bucky’s already pulling off his shirt. “Works for me.”

“Wow, buddy,” Clint drawls, leaning against the counter. “Not even gonna go for a little romance first?”

Bucky looks at him, then at his pants. They’re just as tight as the rest of the suit, and there’s not a whole lot left to the imagination. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Would you like me to? Want me to set up some candles? Play a little music? A trail of rose petals to my ass or something?”

Clint laughs hard enough that he has to hold onto the counter to stay upright. “Fucking hell,” he finally says, wiping his eyes. “Alright. Come here, at least. Let me kiss you or something.”

Bucky goes, because who the hell wouldn’t? He presses himself right up against that uniform, and opens his mouth, and lets Clint start the slow process of absolutely ruining him.

“There’s a good boy,” Clint murmurs against his mouth, hand slipping down the back of his pants. Bucky whimpers a little as he squeezes his ass, calloused hand rough against his skin. “Lose these for me.”

Bucky’s already ahead of him, hands shoving at his waistband. They’re just sweatpants and they’re too big for him anyway, so he’s kicking them aside in no time. “Couch,” he says after a moment. “Or bed. Either. I want you.”

“Do you?” Clint says, almost dryly. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Bucky growls, tugging his shirt. “Come _on_.”

“I’m _coming,_ ” Clint says back, same tone, and then he smirks, and Bucky has to kiss him again before he makes a joke about coming. They stumble over to the couch, and in no time at all, Bucky’s shoved over it, face in the cushion, and Clint’s leaning over him. Bucky’s bare feet brush the edge of the shield as he tries to balance himself. “Pretty sure there was lube in here last week.”

“Here,” Bucky says, digging around and handing it up to him.

“Thank you.” He sets it on the couch, and then there’s a shuffling sound behind Bucky, followed by a significant amount of cursing.

“Need help?” Bucky asks, pushing himself up a little.

“What?”

“The pants,” Bucky says. He turns and gestures to them. “I’ve done it before.”

Clint stares at him a moment, and then a mischievous smirk crosses his face. “Have you, now?”

“I just—Steve got hurt a couple times on missions. I had to—” He stops, because he’s blushing again. “It’s a pain in the ass to get off.”

“Uh-huh,” Clint says, still smirking. “Go for it.” He gestures at the pants, and _fuck_ that’s so much hotter than it should be. Bucky reaches for them immediately, fingers deftly slipping in and undoing the eight million secret clasps—whoever designed this suit was clearly a horrible person who hated sex—before pushing them down just enough to pull his dick out.

Clint makes a faint noise, and Bucky looks up—he really hates being the short one—to see an expression of pure _want_ written all over his face. Bucky looks back down to where his hand is around Clint’s dick, and then he slowly, slowly sinks down to his knees. He’s a big guy, built like a damn tank, but he knows how to draw it out, make it look _good,_ if not particularly sexy. And it must work, because the lust in Clint’s eyes takes on a darker edge, and his hand winds into Bucky’s hair.

“Gonna fuck your face,” he says. “Problem with that?”

“No,” Bucky breathes, already drunk with the idea. “Please do that, please, I _need_ it, please let me suck you off—”

“Let you suck me off,” Clint scoffs, almost dismissive, and that makes him hotter still. “You that far gone already? Said I was gonna fuck your face. You just sit there and take it for me like a good boy.”

He tugs Bucky’s hair for emphasis, and Bucky’s spine just turns into liquid, a warmth burning through him that escapes in a low moan. “Okay,” he says, and opens his mouth.

Clint doesn’t waste any time, sliding in with his own little moan. He tips Bucky’s head to where he wants it, pressing in until Bucky makes a choked noise, hands curling on Clint’s thighs. “Easy,” Clint says. “I know what you can take, baby. Just relax for me.”

He fucks in a little deeper, looking down on Bucky’s watering eyes with a mix of approval and lust, fingers tightening in his hair. “This fucking _mouth_ ,” he says. “Spent all damn day thinking about it. Been wanting to put you on your knees, watch you get all doe-eyed on me. Fuck, you’re pretty like this.” He pulls out almost to the tip, then slides back in with a slick sound that nearly makes Bucky come right then and there.

He fucks Bucky’s mouth for what feels like an eternity—he half wishes it could be, honestly. His eyes are watering, and it’s blurring Clint’s face, all he can make out is the suit and blond hair and suddenly he’s thinking about _Steve_ —

_That_ sends an unexpected rush of heat through him, coupled with a loud, porn-worthy moan—he’s talked about it before, with Clint, about maybe bringing Steve in. They used to have fun together, and he knows Clint’s _definitely_ interested—

Clint pulls out, leaving Bucky gasping and off balance. “The suit really does it for you, huh?” he asks. “Or were you thinking about something else just now?”

Bucky flushes bright red, and Clint grins like the fucking Cheshire Cat. “You _were,_ ” he says. “Tell me.”

“No,” Bucky protests as Clint pulls him upright, bending him over the couch right where ehe was before, he toes

“I’m sorry, did I give you the impression that was a choice?” There’s the crack of the lube opening, and then he’s slipping two fingers into Bucky, drinking in his little gasp and the way his hips hitch against the couch. “Because it fucking wasn’t. Tell me, sweetheart.”

“Steve,” Bucky says, burying his face in the cushions to muffle the word. “Thinking about Steve.”

Clint’s fingers don’t slow for a second. “What about him?”

“It’s the suit. I don’t know.” His hips stutter forward again, and the fact that Clint doesn’t stop him means he’s probably planning on making Bucky come twice anyway—

“Is it?” Clint asks. “You sure? Not the first time you’ve mentioned him, pretty boy. You want Steve to fuck you?” He leans over, fingers twisting _just_ right, moving in tandem as Bucky fucks back into him.

“No,” Bucky says, except he _does,_ but that’s not the only thing he wants about it—

“Oh?” Another twist of his fingers, sparks going up his spine. “You lying to me?”

Bucky shakes his head, losing his words.

Clint hums quietly, then leans forward more, the fabric of the suit rasping over Bucky’s skin. “Or do you want both of us?” he asks quietly. “Hm? That how it is? You want us both to fuck you?”

“Yes,” Bucky manages as he pulls his fingers out. “Yes!”

“Good to know,” Clint muses, and then he’s sliding into Bucky, moving one hand up to his hair, the other bruising around his hip. “Maybe we should talk about that more.”

They should, but Bucky’s finding it hard to remember his own damn name right now as Clint pulls out a little and then snaps his hips forward. Bucky’s already wrecked, honestly, and Clint hasn’t even really _touched_ him, has barely done anything except push him around a little—

He sets up a steady rhythm—not quite fucking Bucky into the couch, but definitely enough to draw out sharp little noises with every press into him. His other hand, the one in Bucky’s hair, tightens and pulls him upright, the bright pain of it mixing with the overwhelming _pleasure._

“I like the idea,” he says, a little breathless himself. “I wanna see it. Just like this. Me fucking you, your mouth on his cock. You don’t get to come until we do. Maybe not at all.”

Bucky can’t help the noise he makes at that, something filthy and indescribable. He _wants_ that, wants to be trapped between the two of them and utterly destroyed, broken down to nothing and then put back together again—

“Please,” he begs, because that’s later, and this is now, and he wants to come—needs it, almost, can feel it building in him like a fucking tidal wave. “ _Clint!_ ”

“Oh baby,” Clint says, dark amusement coloring his voice. “What’re you whining for, huh? Am I not taking care of you?” He reaches down, wraps a hand around Bucky’s dick.

“Clint,” Bucky sobs, fingers curling into the fabric. “Clint—”

“You gonna ask me for it?”

“Please!”

“No, no.” Clint rubs his thumb over the head of Bucky’s dick, laughing quietly as Bucky yelps into the cushions. “With _feeling,_ baby. Beg me for it.” He’s fucking slow and deep now, and Bucky thinks _maybe_ he can come like this but it’s not really enough, he needs what he was getting before, needs it harder—

“ _Please,_ ” he says again, flushing red, because he _knows_ what Clint wants, but fuck if he’s gonna give in so easily. Two can play at this game.

“Living in my apartment,” Clint says, still amused, grinding into him at an angle that makes him see stars. “Going back to school on my dime, eating my food, spending my money—I’m your fuckin’ sugar daddy, you know that? And all I ask in return is a simple thing—” He hitches his hips forward, draws a shout out of Bucky that the neighbors probably hear. “Tell me how much you want it, sweet boy. Tell me how desperate you are. Let me _hear_ it.”

Okay, so one can play at this game. His resistance crumbles—not that it was there in the first place, honestly—and Bucky starts begging. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying, just an endless stream of _oh god Clint_ and _please fuck me_ and _I need it I need you_.

“There you go,” Clint says, breathless but way too fucking smug about it. “Come on, sweetheart. Come for me.”

Bucky probably couldn’t stop it if he tried. It’s overwhelming, and sudden, and it flashes through him like a wildfire. He manages a sharp gasp, shuddering under Clint’s tight grip. “Oh—”

“That’s it,” Clint murmurs, following him over the edge a moment later. “That’s it, pretty boy. Took that so damn good for me, always do.” He presses soft kisses to Bucky’s neck, a gentle juxtaposition to the way he just ruined him. “So fucking good. How you feeling?”

“Nngh,” Bucky mumbles. “M’good.” He turns a little, seeking a kiss, and Clint obliges him despite the awkward angle.

“So,” he says, still inside Bucky, still pressed against him. “You serious?”

Bucky blinks. “Huh?”

“About Steve.” He shifts a little, drawing a low hiss out of Bucky. “You serious? You want us both to fuck you?”

“Please,” Bucky mumbles. “I— _please_.”

Clint nods. “Good to know,” he says again. “What would you say if I told you he wanted that too?”

Bucky turns a little. “You know that for sure?” He’s trying not to let on how turned on he is at the thought, but that’s not really possible with the way his whole body reacts to it. “I mean—”

“I do know,” Clint says. “You wanna hear him say it?”

“What?”

Clint reaches up and taps his ear—he’s still wearing his comms piece, Bucky realizes, and the implications of what he’s saying make him hot all over— “You mean he’s—”

“Yeah,” Clint says.

“So he heard all of that—”

“He did.”

Bucky thinks maybe he should be annoyed about that—they’ve discussed the idea before, he has no secrets from Clint, but he would’ve liked _some_ warning before he went blabbing all his fantasies to an audience. But he’s really not.

“Sorry,” Clint says after a moment, reading the expression on his face all too easily. “You—I guess that was a shit move on my part. I wasn’t really thinking—fuck. I’m sorry.”

“I mean—” Bucky stands up and turns around. His legs are still wobbling. “I would’ve liked to know, but—” He rubs a hand over his face, scrubbing off the tear tracks, then kisses Clint. “It’s okay. We can talk about it later. But since you got him here—” He motions for the earpiece. “Can I have it?”

Clint hands it to him, and Bucky fits it into his ear. “Steve?”

“Yeah, Buck,” comes a quiet voice. “It’s me.”

“You heard?”

“I did.”

“What do you think?”

“I want it too,” Steve says. “All of it. What he said—I want that, Bucky. I’ve wanted it for a long time.”

Bucky bites his lip. “You never _said_ anything.”

“You were happy with Clint. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Oh.” He meets Clint’s eyes for a moment before dropping his gaze to the suit. Fuck, it’s still hot, and he feels his body already gearing up for a second round. “You coming over for dinner tomorrow?”

“That’s the plan.”

“We’ll talk about it then, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve says softly. “That works. I’ll, uh—I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“I’m glad you know,” Bucky says quickly. “I mean—I was going to ask anyway. So. I’m not mad that you were listening.”

“It was hot,” Steve admits, and Bucky suddenly thinks about Steve getting off to what they just did, and how he’d look doing it—

“Good,” he says, forcing the thought away. Yeah, he’s definitely ready for round two. Fucking super soldier refractory periods. “Good. Okay. I’ll—I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Sounds good,” Steve says, and the line goes dead.

Clint still looks guilty as hell, eyes downcast, shoulders slumped. “Sorry,” he says to Bucky’s feet.

Bucky reaches out and tilts his chin up. “Hey,” he says, trying to bleed sincerity in every word. “Clint. I’m not mad. You just walked in and gave me two of my biggest fantasies in one go. It’s okay, really. Honestly, I think it’s kind of hot. Next time, just give me a little heads up or something.”

Clint meets his eyes, searching them. He must see what he’s looking for, though, because after a moment, his shoulders relax and the little smirk appears on his face again. “Next time,” he says. “How many people do you think I’m bringing into this bed?”

Bucky shrugs. “Dressing in their uniform’s not a requirement,” he says. “Although I do kinda wanna see you squeezed into Nat’s. Just for the hell of it.”

“Oh,” Clint says. “There’s a thought.” He kisses Bucky, slow and easy, hands roaming down over his ass. Bucky shifts a little closer, accidentally bumping the shield. It slides down the couch, settling onto the floor.

“Oh,” Bucky echoes, looking down at it. “I, uh—”

Clint snickers. “Nice. You jizzed on Captain America’s shield.”

“You’re the one who put it there!” He looks at it. It’s kind of obscene, really. “Guess it saved the couch, though.”

“Mmhmm. I’m gonna tell Steve.”

“You wouldn’t,” Bucky says, mock offended.

“I would.” He squeezes Bucky’s ass, then smacks it once. “That’s government property too, you know. Gonna have to punish you for defiling it.”

“Oh _no,_ ” Bucky says, grinning. “What a _shame._ ”

“Yeah?” Clint smacks him again. “That what you want? Put you over Steve’s lap and make him give you a couple good ones?”

“Only if you fuck me after,” Bucky says, and loops his arms around Clint’s neck, looking up at him with his best puppy eyes. “While I suck him off.”

“Oh?” Clint says, grinning, and he picks Bucky up, arms flexing in the suit as he carries him to the bedroom. It’s _insanely_ hot, and yeah—Bucky’s definitely ready for round two. By the looks of it, so is Clint. “How do you get what you want?”

“Please,” Bucky adds, wrapping his legs around Clint, holding on tightly. He’s not sure he’ll ever let go. “ _Please_ , can I have that?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Clint says, dumping him on the bed, a wicked gleam in his eye. “Beg pretty enough, and you can have any damn thing you want.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr!](https://feedmecookiesnow.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [Image reference of Steve's defiled shield](https://i.imgur.com/2RqeYV7.jpg), courtesy of greyishbobbi (no, that's not actually jizz on it. It's paint. Primer? Something like that)


End file.
